Ring of Secrets (17 page)

He had considered that too during the long, sleepless night. But he barely knew her. Certainly he had not discovered the full scope of her depths. The fact that she hid herself so well from everyone, that she constantly threw up another wall whenever he discovered a crack in one…an intelligent, amazing woman lurked under the beauty, he was sure of it. But he had met many an intelligent, amazing woman with whom he would not want to spend his life. How could he be sure she wasn't one of those until she let him see her in her fullness?

None of which George would understand, given that he denied
such fullness existed. So he shook his head and opted to share another, no less valid, reason. “What can I possibly offer her?”

George's mouth fell open. “Do you jest? A certain estate called Clefton springs to mind.”

“Yes, it springs to everyone's mind—except mine.” He rubbed his eyes and leaned into the table. “I was raised with Colonial understandings of ownership, George. That you build your own legacy and then pass it to whomever you please. I feel no tie to the land in England, no obligation or duty toward it and its tenants. I should, I suppose, but…frankly, I don't want to move to the other side of the Atlantic. I want to go back to Connecticut, conduct my experiments, teach my classes, and so pass a contented life.”

For a long moment George just looked at him, his gaze absent its usual teasing and filled with what could only be termed new understanding. “Is it entailed?”

Ben shook his head. “Father was the only logical heir for Uncle Milton to name now that his son is dead, but it needn't be me that inherits from him. Archie could as well—though I doubt Father will see it that way.”

“Would you…” As if unable to grasp the words he was about to say, George shook his head, repositioned himself on his seat. “Would you refuse it? Tell your father you don't want it?”

Assuming the choice weren't taken from him, he would still in good conscience have little choice. “It would be the best thing. Archie has traveled there, and he loves the old place. There has been some talk among the family lately of him inheriting the property here in America now that I'm the presumed heir of the English estate, but I think the reverse would suit us all better.”

George breathed a laugh. “And yet you go about in society letting everyone think you are landed gentry in the British sense. Ben, I did not know you had it in you.”

“Well, it's hardly the business of society at large what I may eventually work out with my father, is it? Besides, they assume what they will. I have never said a word about it one way or another.”

Grinning, George turned back to his work. “I agree wholeheartedly. And I applaud you for knowing what you want. Even—or perhaps
especially—if it means the Hamptons wouldn't then approve a match with their granddaughter.”

Ben stood again and picked up his hat. He had done what he came to do. He had gotten George's story and had then let him think Ben was distracted from it by his own woes. Now to prove he had not been. “George, whatever you are involved in, promise me you will be careful. Had it been Fairchild who overheard you, or even Archie…they may turn a blind eye to much that goes on in the city, but I daresay weapons are of the utmost concern to them.”

“You have no need to worry, Ben, I assure you. I am involved in nothing for them to take issue with.” But he did not look up. And though his fingers moved, they accomplished nothing.

He was involved in
something
, Ben was sure. But he would say no more without knowing exactly what. “Well, I must be on my way. I will see you tomorrow as planned?”

Now George tossed him a smile. “The whole family is looking forward to it, myself included.”

“Excellent.” Ben positioned his hat on his head and nodded. “Until then.”

He headed for the door, pushing these concerns aside to make room for others. He had some documentation to dig up, and it brought a smile to his lips. This kind of search he was actually good at.

Much as Winter loved her below-stable sanctuary, she had to admit that she preferred it with light. The scent of melted wax continued to tease her nose even after she had hurriedly snuffed out her candle, and she waved away the smoke toward the ventilation cracks at the end of the room. She hoped the telltale whiff wouldn't go straight up toward the trap door.

No light seeped through the portal, which meant Freeman had covered it when the servant approached. She inched her way through the darkness toward the stairs, barely suppressing a squeal when a cobweb caught on her cheek. She swiped it away, flapped her hand a few
times, and scrubbed at her face to make sure a spider hadn't joined its web.

Yes, illumination made all the difference when one was in a hole with no way out.

“I can take it no more. I have to get away, Free. I must.”

Winter frowned and rested her hand against the cold earthen wall as she tried to place the voice. One of the slaves from the house?

“Percy.” Freeman sounded tired and anxious. “I know he treats you poorly, but you can't run away. If you get caught—”

“I'll join the army. The British have promised freedom to any slave who joins them.”

Freeman's sigh came through the floorboards without difficulty. “Any slaves of
Patriot
families. They have not extended the offer to slaves of Loyalists.”

“Well, maybe the rebels have. I'll join with them, then.”

“How will you get to them?” Freeman no doubt shook his head in that way that insisted on reason. “You would more likely be caught than make it to rebel-held territory, and if you are then brought back to Mr. Hampton…it's not worth the risk.”

“How can you know that? You, who were born free?”

Winter heard shuffling and then settling. And another of her friend's long sighs. “I was blessed in that, yes. Blessed to spend most of my life with a family like the Reeves, who offered me and my parents respect and even friendship. But am I any better than you now? The Hamptons and those like them—they don't care if I'm free. To them, I'm worthless.”

It sounded as though Percy toed the stall wall. “Come with me, then. We can claim I'm your son, and—”

“No, boy. I cannot leave Miss Reeves here unprotected. They hold her in no higher esteem than they do us.”

She had a feeling the slave wouldn't see it that way, and Percy's scoffing laugh verified it. “You think I'm a fool? The way they dress her up—”

“They dress up Thomas too, to open their doors and polish their silver.”

Another incredulous snort. “What ties you to her, Free?”

Winter smiled into the darkness. There could be no simple answer
to a question like that. Eighteen years of shared circumstances, shared toil, shared fear and loss. She shut her eyes to focus on his words, whatever they may be.

He chuckled, soft and quiet. “I had a wife once, Percy. A fine woman I loved with all my heart. We were set to have a babe, and my Nan took to her childbed the same time Mrs. Reeves did. Neither Nan nor our little girl made it. But Mr. Reeves, he took little Winnie from her cradle while Mrs. Reeves slept, he put her in my arms, and he said, ‘I can share your pain, Freeman, and you can share my joy.' So you see, from her first hour of life, she was my little girl as sure as she was her daddy's, the gift the good Lord gave me to ease the pain of losing my own child and my sweet bride.”

A few tears trickled from beneath her lashes. He had called her his girl often when she was younger, and she had known, of course, about the terrible loss of his wife and daughter. But she had never heard this story before. It may not make sense to the young man who stood directly above her now, who wanted only to be away from this terrible place, but for Winter it proved they had done right by staying together. It demonstrated why he mourned the destruction of their home as keenly as she did.

Percy made a noise that combined the disgusted with the dismissive. “You must be daft, staying here when you could leave. But I ain't. Better to die trying to find freedom than to live out my days tied to that man.”

Winter leaned her head against the wall. She could understand that sentiment. Terrible as her grandparents were to her, they were worse to many of those who served them. But Freeman was right. The military might accept slaves from Patriot families and offer them their freedom in exchange for their service, but they had been forbidden from offering the same to Tory slaves—and making it out of British lines would be difficult indeed for a black man traveling alone. Even with the right passes, he would be stopped, searched, and likely sent back.

And Grandfather wasn't kind to those who had attempted escape.

Percy moved off, and Freeman sent a farewell after him. Winter drew in a deep breath and waited. One minute, two, until the coast would be clear.

In the darkness, her mind conjured up an image of fire and of the
letter she had tossed into it in a fit of anger. The words that she so wished she still had in her possession, to reread when she felt alone.

I know you do not understand fully why I left, sweet Winter
, her father had written.
But I hope someday you will see that I fight for you. For your right to live free.

Freedom…sometimes it felt like an illusion. One for which men like Percy were willing to risk a flogging, one for which men like Father were willing to leave their family.

She hadn't understood that then, when Mother had first fallen ill and she had just wanted Father
there
, beside her, making it all well. She had resented his cause, his conviction, his duty to country above kin.

But his words had burned into her mind as they were consumed in the flames, haunting her as she sat by her mother's deathbed, as she waited for the arrival of the grandparents she had never met. As they brought her here, forced their wills upon her, and made her wonder if she would ever again be free to live how she wanted.

That was when she realized freedom and faith were so inexplicably linked. The Lord had granted mankind an amazing gift when He allowed them to choose for themselves how they would live. He had surpassed even that when He freely offered forgiveness for choosing wrongly.

How could they who loved Him and His precepts not want to extend that right of freedom to everyone? To their children and their neighbors?

Winter breathed in the damp darkness and hoped Father somehow knew she understood now.

When the door was raised and precious light flooded down, she flew up the stairs and wrapped her arms around Freeman's waist. “Why is it that neither you nor Father ever told me that story of the day I was born?”

He chuckled and patted her on the back. “Never needed to be told. It just was. But knowing how you worry for me, and how I worry right back for you, it seemed a fine time to remind you that we are family, Winnie girl. Sure as if my blood flowed in your veins.”

A statement so true it needed no other words. So she stepped away and smiled. Matched both pointer fingers to thumbs in a circle, touching, and then drew them apart into a larger circle.
Family
.

Freeman nodded, and then he jerked his head toward the house. “Get on back inside before they miss you, now.”

Miss her…a laughable choice of phrase. They may note her absence, may grow angered by it, but they certainly would never miss her when she was gone. Still, she said her goodbyes and left the stable, hurried across the lawn, and entered through the kitchen door.

The cook greeted her with wide eyes and a frantic whisper. “Where you been, Miss Winter? Colonel Fairchild done come and asked to speak with Mr. Hampton. Your grandmother, she be looking everywhere for you.”

Her heart couldn't seem to decide whether it ought to race or thud to a halt. So her chest banded up instead, nearly suffocating her. The colonel had never before come to seek Grandfather's company. And there was only one reason he would do so now.

“Thank you, Cookie.” She managed a nod before sprinting up the back steps and into her room. The moment she gained it, she kicked off the shoes soiled by the stable and slid on fresh slippers.

Then sank onto the edge of her bed and stared into nothingness.